


A Death in the Family

by PrincessMariana



Series: Dark-ish Batfam [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: (hinted at), Alternate Universe, Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Can be read alone, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick and Bruce dealing with Jason's death, Gen, Jason Todd is Dead, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Overprotective, Panic Attacks, Protective Bruce Wayne, Sort Of, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23925121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMariana/pseuds/PrincessMariana
Summary: The Joker has killed Jason Todd. Bruce tells Dick immediately, and Dick returns to the manor. Bruce will do anything to keep his remaining son safe and close. Dick thinks it's the grief that's keeping him exhausted.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: Dark-ish Batfam [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724602
Comments: 108
Kudos: 306





	1. Jason Todd is Dead

**Author's Note:**

> The third time's the charm! This isn't dark-dark, but I think I finally wrote something that qualifies as dark-ish. It might be the same level of dark as is canon though, because Bruce Wayne in canon can also be a creepy, controlling asshole. But brace yourself for all the cuddling, which is definitely less canon, though not dark.
> 
> In this 'verse, Dick isn't as active in the Teen Titans and doesn't really have close friends, because Bruce is a bit more overbearing. So, Dick spends more time with Robin!Jason, and Bruce is more likely to tell him important things, like that Jason has died, unlike in the comics.
> 
> Warning: Dick has a trauma-induced panic attack, so if that's triggering, maybe skip or skim this chapter.

Dick had been on patrol when Bruce called him and ordered him to the Batcave. Bruce’s voice had sounded hoarse with repressed emotion, so Dick had agreed, instead of arguing like he usually would. These days, Bruce usually had Alfred or Jason reach out to him, which only had concerned Dick more.

Dick parked his bike in its designated spot and walked down the short corridor to the Batcave’s main enclave. Bruce was standing in front of the Batcomputer, still in the Kevlar suit with the cowl off, his back to Dick. He was tenser than usual, and there was no sign of Jason or Alfred.

“What’s wrong?” Dick said.

Bruce turned. His face was dirty from ash and blood. His hands were balled up into fists at his side. Dick had never seen so much blatant, raw emotion on his former mentor’s face. It scared him. “Bruce?” Dick said cautiously.

“The Joker killed Jason,” Bruce said, the words clear and furious.

Dick stared at him, wide-eyed. “ _What_? No – no, that can’t be right. What are talking about?”

“He’s gone, Dick.” Bruce slammed a fist onto the controller table. The keyboards rattled. He took a moment and composed himself before continuing, voice hard, “Jason and I had a fight, and then Jason ran right into the Joker’s trap. When I reached the warehouse where he was, Joker blew it up.”

“Did you – did you find a body?” Dick asked. He and Bruce had found themselves in impossible situations before and survived. “Maybe he escaped.”

But Bruce was shaking his head. “No. I couldn’t find a body, but the Joker-” Bruce breathed in and out, fists unclenching and clenching. “He left behind a goddamn _video_ of him _beating Jason to death_. He died before I even knew about the warehouse.”

“Fuck,” Dick said. “ _Fuck._ ”

Dick braced a hand against the wall and tried to process this information. It didn’t seem possible. He’d always been ready for Bruce’s death. Batman played a dangerous game. But Robin? Jason? He hadn’t even considered the possibility.

He was having a hard time breathing. Hyperventilating, Dick thought distantly. He was hyperventilating, probably going into shock. So he was breathing. Too much, though. He’d be embarrassed later – he was supposed to be stronger than this – but his mind kept circulating made-up images of the Joker towering over a terrified and bloody Jason. They’d just celebrated his fifteenth birthday – _he’d been so young_ – he would’ve been scared but hiding it behind the typical cocky bravado he’d perfected as Robin – until Joker broke him – _had he known he was going to die?_ – had he died scared? – Robin was never scared – but Jason was only human and –

“Dick.” A hand on his shoulder. Bruce’s voice. Calmer now. Dick hadn’t noticed Bruce moving. Because Dick couldn’t _breathe_. Except he was hyperventilating, so he was breathing too much. “You’re going to be okay. You need to take deeper breaths.”

Dick didn’t _want_ to take deeper breaths, because if he stopped hyperventilating, the floaty feeling would go away, and it’d be so much _worse_. Because Jason was _dead_. The Joker had killed Jason, had killed Robin. Even though Robin _couldn’t_ die, wasn’t supposed die.

“Dick, focus on my voice. Breathe in…and out…and in.”

Despite himself, Dick listened to Bruce, and he began breathing with him. In…and out.

After what felt like hours, but probably was just a few minutes, he slowly became aware that he was sitting on the cold floor of the Batcave. Bruce was crouched next to him, rubbing comforting circles on his back, Dick’s head resting on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Dick said, his throat dry and painful.

“It’s alright, chum,” Bruce said. And Bruce hadn’t called him that in _years._

Dick hummed and shifted more of his weight against Bruce. He felt small, like he’d been the first few years as Robin. Batman had always been there to talk him through the anxiety and trauma after close calls. But this wasn’t a close call, and Dick wasn’t a kid anymore. _Jason_ was Robin. Had been Robin. Had been a kid.

Batman adjusted them so that Dick was encircled in his arms and half in his lap. Dick dimly realized he was silently crying. The rage would come later, and the shock had already faded. All he could feel was pure _grief_.

“You’ll stay at the manor, and I am taking you off patrol until further notice,” Bruce said firmly.

Dick hummed in acknowledgement. Normally, he’d bristle at the orders, at Bruce making decisions for him. It was why he left, after all. Bruce didn’t have the authority to dictate his patrol schedule or where he’d be sleeping anymore. He wasn’t a child. (Like Jason.) But Dick just felt numb and tired and small. The orders were soothing. They took away the pressure of choice.

He honestly couldn’t imagine going back to patrol like nothing had happened. Jason had joined him in Bludhaven a few times, when he’d needed a break from Bruce and Gotham. Dick had steered them clear of the worst parts of his city, but they’d had fun stopping the general muggings and robberies. He couldn’t comprehend that Jason wouldn’t slip away from Batman to join him on patrol anymore. A world where Jason was gone forever didn’t even make sense. Another piece of family, torn away.

Dick began to sob as his numbness ebbed away, his whole body shaking. Bruce tucked Dick’s head under his chin and rocked him, back and forth. Despite the emotional agony, Dick tried to stay awake. His dreams might be worse, and he should be there for Bruce, before Bruce did something stupid. But it was soothing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Dick could feel the fatigue of grief settle in his bones. Back…and forth. He shouldn’t sleep but…Back…and…forth…and…

+++

Bruce stared down at his sleeping son – his only living son. He could feel his body quivering from rage. Dick’s tear-stained face only amplified the overpowering emotion. He hadn’t felt reprieve from the pure _fury_ , since he’d watched the video. The Joker would _pay_ for what he’d done to Jason and their family.

But for now, Bruce had to focus on keeping Dick safe. Dick’s grief would make him more reckless, and the Joker would be riding on a high after killing one Robin. Bruce refused to allow the monster to touch his other son.

He used his focus on Dick to reign back the anger and the sorrow, as much as he could. If he allowed emotion to control him, he might push Dick away into danger, like he’d pushed Jason away to his death.

Bruce cradled Dick’s face gently with a hand and used his thumb to wipe away a few stray tears. Bruce had been prepared to forcibly confine his remaining son to the manor, but Dick had surprised him by agreeing so easily. Bruce had expected a fight. Everything between them was a fight now. No matter Bruce’s intentions, Dick seemed to enjoy defying him. Bruce had understood, to some extent, and had given him space. But he’d given Jason space after their fight, expecting the child to take refuge with Dick, like he usually did after such an explosive argument. And Jason had died. Bruce wasn’t allowing Dick anymore space.

Bruce carefully lifted Dick into his arms and started towards the changing room. Even with the dire circumstances, Bruce wouldn’t break his no capes in the manor rule. It’d be unnecessary risk, and he wouldn’t survive losing another son.

In the early days, on nights when Dick hadn’t been on patrol, Bruce would sometimes find him asleep on a pile of homework, wearing his Robin costume, ready to go just in case Bruce would unexpectantly need him in the field. Dick hated being left behind. A blanket, courtesy of Alfred, often had been draped over his shoulders, making him look even tinier. Bruce would have to gently wrestle his sleeping robin out of his suit and into pajamas before caring him to bed. It had been years, and Dick was much bigger now. Still, Bruce managed it without waking him. Grief and shock were heavy sedatives. After they wore off, Bruce would need to use a more medicinal substitute.

The nostalgia from the walk up to the manor and to Dick’s old room helped distract from the anger that rattled in the back of his mind. He’d rarely had to carry Jason to bed. His youngest always was – _had_ _been_ more on edge than Dick. Dick could fall asleep just about anywhere, but Jason had had to feel safe or collapse from exhaustion to sleep.

Bruce paused by the door to Jason’s suite. The door was shut, thankfully, likely Alfred’s doing, but even without seeing the shelves of well-loved books, the desk full of papers and textbooks, and the familiar four poster bed, Bruce’s heart _hurt,_ and his fury momentarily burned through him again. He quickly moved away.

The door to Dick’s old suite was ajar. Bruce stepped through the sitting room to the bedroom. From the telescope to the Robin Hood poster, everything was just as Dick had left it, almost two years ago. Jason had sarcastically called it Dick’s ‘shrine’. Since leaving for Bludhaven, Dick rarely stayed overnight at the manor, and when he did, he would sleep in one of the guest rooms, far from Bruce’s own suite. But Bruce couldn’t leave Dick in an empty, impersonal guest room.

Not for the first time, Bruce wished Dick could have stayed young forever, tugging at Bruce’s sleeve when he wanted to show Bruce his latest report card or acrobatics trick. Jason never even had the chance to grow up too fast.

Bruce walked over to the bed, prepared to tuck his son in and leave. But as he stared at the professionally creased sheets, he couldn’t make his arms let go of his only living son. He knew intellectually that the manor was safe, of course. The security was top notch. No one could get in without Bruce’s knowing.

The irrational part of his mind didn’t want to leave his son alone and vulnerable. What if Dick decided to leave? Or what if the Joker had found out Jason’s identity and would be coming to the manor next? Bruce knew it was unlikely. The Joker didn’t want to know their identities; it wasn’t his way. And removing Jason’s mask would have taken some doing. Bruce installed safety measures in all their masks so that they were near impossible to remove without inside knowledge.

Still – Bruce didn’t want Dick to leave his sight. Not yet.

He left the room and climbed the steps to the master suites. He strode into his bedroom and, after hesitating for the barest moment, laid Dick down on his bed. Carefully, as not to wake him, he stripped back the covers and tucked Dick in. Dick hummed in his sleep and curled onto his side, cheek against the pillow.

His son looked peaceful in sleep, but the tear tracks still on his cheeks gave away his pain. Bruce leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Dick’s forehead. He studied him for another moment, before moving to the other side of the bed and slipping under the covers.

Sensing the dip in the bed and the warm body, Dick’s hand weakly reached for Bruce, resting lightly on Bruce’s wrist. Bruce shifted over and pulled Dick back into his arms. Dick snuggled in closer and rested his head on Bruce’s chest, just like he used to do as a child. Bruce closed his eyes and focused on Dick’s quiet breathing. It was awhile before he was able to fall asleep.


	2. Some Honey for a Sweet Tooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick sleeps a lot. The day after Jason's death, both he and Bruce are dealing with the grief, albeit in different ways.

Dick woke up the next morning to birds making a racket. He groaned and rolled over. Bludhaven might be a shithole, but at least it didn’t have loud and obnoxious birds chirping at way too early in the morning. The manor was his childhood home, but – Dick sat straight up, suddenly wide awake. The manor – he was at the manor.

The memories of last night came flooding in. A call from Bruce. Bruce, trembling from rage. God, _Jason._ Jason was _dead_. Dick stared dully at his hands. _Jason was dead. Jason was dead. Jason was dead._ The words echoed in his mind, like something from a nightmare.

“Dick?”

Dick’s head snapped up. Bruce was standing in front of the bed holding a tray of food. “I thought you might like breakfast in bed,” Bruce said.

“Hm?” Dick blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. His voice was quiet when he spoke. “Yeah. Um, breakfast sounds…nice.”

Not that _Jason_ would ever get to have breakfast in bed. Dick shuddered and looked down again. His knuckles were white from clutching the bedsheet tightly.

Bruce sat down on the other side of the bed, setting the tray between them. “Alfred will be gone for the next week or so to mourn in his own way,” Bruce said quietly.

He handed Dick a plate of food – bacon and eggs but done in that fancy way only Alfred could do. And maybe Jason. Alfred had been teaching Jason how to cook, Dick remembered.

“We’ll have to survive off of my cooking until he returns,” Bruce continued.

We? Had he agreed to staying at the manor? He vaguely recalled Bruce saying something about it in the cave, but Dick couldn’t remember. Bruce was waiting for him to say something. Dick offered a strained smile. “You know how to cook?”

“I can make the staples,” Bruce said with a shrug. “We won’t starve.”

Dick stared down at the food with apprehension. It was appetizing – all of Alfred’s food was appetizing – but Jason’s favorite meal of the day had been breakfast. He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the wetness on his hand.

Bruce moved Dick’s plate and the breakfast tray out of the way. He wrapped an arm around Dick’s shoulders, pulling him close. It wasn’t like last night, when he had struggled to breathe properly, and his sobs had shaken his whole body. He was feeling a quieter grief. He silently cried into Bruce’s shoulder while Bruce whispered gently to him. “It’ll be alright, chum. We’ll get through this. You’ll be okay.”

Eventually, the tears abated, and Dick was feeling more himself. A good cry always made him feel better. He wiped away the last of the tears with his sleeve and then looked up to meet Bruce’s concerned gaze. “I think I’m hungrier now,” he said.

Bruce kept an arm around Dick as he reached over and grabbed the plate. Dick took a deep breath and forced himself to take the first bite. Alfred’s cooking filled him with warm nostalgia, and he _was_ rather hungry, especially after two emotional breakdowns, so he devoured the rest of the plate in minutes.

Bruce laughed at Dick’s empty plate. “Alfred would be pleased. He worries endlessly about you and your sugary cereal addiction.”

Dick grinned. “What can I say? I like cereal, and I have a sweet tooth. Has Alfred left already?”

“He left after making breakfast. He hadn’t planned on leaving me alone, but I told him this morning that you were planning on staying for a few weeks, so he asked for some time.” Bruce was quiet for a moment. “He and Jason were very close.”

“Jason was really excited when Alfred started teaching him how to cook,” Dick said, and then paused. Brow furrowed, he echoed, “A few weeks? My memories of last night are a bit groggy, but I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

Bruce hummed and reached over to the breakfast tray again. He retrieved a cup of tea. “Alfred thought the tea would sooth you. It has copious amounts of honey, just as you like it.”

Dick accepted the cup and gave Bruce a reproachful look. “Don’t deflect. I can’t stay at the manor for a few _weeks_. A few days, maybe.”

He took a sip of the tea. He could taste the honey, overpowering the taste of the actual tea – the good kind of honey that Alfred always had stocked, not the crappy kind Dick found at the store. “Alfred doesn’t usually add this much honey,” Dick said with a small, content noise, and took a bigger sip.

“I may have added some extra,” Bruce said. “Don’t tell Alfred.”

“Scout’s honor,” Dick said. The tea was half gone. He had _such_ a sweet tooth. “But anyways, you can’t distract me with tea. It’s a lot more convenient to return from patrol to my apartment in Bludhaven than the manor, on the other side of Gotham.”

“You are off patrol until further notice,” Bruce said firmly. “It won’t–”

“What?” Dick snapped. “You can’t take me off patrol, Bruce! That’s not your call to make. You’re such a-” Dick drank more tea, letting the sugary taste calm him down before he said something he’d regret. “Bruce, I understood that after – after Jason, you’re going into overprotective mode. He will – it will be difficult…for both of us to…recover, but you can’t smother me. You have to be – to, um… You have to treat me like an…an adult.”

Dick’s head was swimming again. He was having a hard time focusing. The sadness that he’d temporarily had under control lashed out again. Dick took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He just needed to get through this conversation with Bruce, and then he could leave the room, maybe meditate or practice some flips. Anything to re-center his thoughts.

“-dangerous.” Bruce was speaking. Dick forced himself to listen. “The Joker will be after you next. You’re much safer here than in Bludhaven.”

“No. Bludhaven needs me. I need…I need to-” His head ached as he tried to connect words together, but this was important. “I need to patrol.”

“You _need_ to be resting,” Bruce said sternly.

He took the cup of tea out of Dick’s trembling hands and then gently pushed him down. Dick let himself be arranged against the pillows. “B-Bruce,” Dick said, trying to keep his eyes open. “I don’t…want…”

Bruce tucked the blankets around Dick. He brushed hair away from Dick’s face. “It’s alright, chum,” he murmured. “This is difficult for all of us. It’s natural that you’re tired. A nice nap will help. I promise.”

Dick tried to protest, but he was just so _tired_. Maybe Bruce was right, and he just needed a little more sleep. They could continue arguing…later.

+++

The next time Dick woke up, his bladder was protesting. He still felt froggy and disorientated, but the grief had abetted. He sat up and stretched, his joints cracking. He would have to utilize the Batcave’s gymnastics equipment to feel like himself again – when he was feeling less exhausted. All he wanted to do was curl back under the warm blankets and take another, long nap.

But bathroom first.

Regretfully, he tossed aside the soft, warm, snuggly blankets and slipped out of bed. Dick paused, looking around in confusion. For the first time, he noticed that he wasn’t in the guestroom he typically slept in or even his old room. He was in the master bedroom, _Bruce’s_ bedroom. Looking down, he realized that he was also dressed in _Bruce’s_ pajamas. They were a few sizes too large, and he felt tiny in them. They made him feel like a child playing dress-up in his daddy’s clothes.

Bruce must have taken his suit off in the Batcave, he rationalized. He only kept some day clothes in the Batcave, so it made sense he’d be put in Bruce’s pajamas. But Dick couldn’t explain away sleeping in Bruce’s bed. Except – Dick _sighed_. Bruce must be in top overprotective, smothering mode. Awesome.

Well, if Bruce let him sleep in his bed, then he probably wouldn’t mind if Dick borrowed his bathroom. The master bathroom was the biggest in the manor. As a child, Dick had loved having bubble baths in its large, ornate tub. It was like his own small swimming pool.

When Dick entered the bathroom, he noticed a pile of folded up clothes with a toothbrush on top, sitting on the bathroom counter. Upon closer examination, the clothes turned out to be more of Bruce’s pajamas. Dick really should leave more of his own clothes in the manor. There was also a short note, written in Bruce’s elegant handwriting.

_These are for you. Come downstairs after showering. -B_

Dick hadn’t planned on showering, but the idea was suddenly very appealing. He hadn’t showered since before patrol and coming to the Batcave. He could feel the grime of Bludhaven under the pajamas Bruce had wrapped him in.

Less than an hour later, his bladder was empty, his teeth were clean, and his hair smelled faintly of the shampoo Bruce had been using since before Dick had become Robin. The shower had been like a much-needed burst of caffeine. He left the bathroom and headed downstairs.

Bruce was in the living room, typing on a laptop. He looked up as soon as Dick entered the room. “Sleep well, chum?”

Bruce really needed to stop calling him that, Dick thought with a flash of teenage irritation. It brought back too many memories of being Robin, where Batman and Bruce were his whole world. “Yep,” Dick said. “Thanks for the clothes.”

That earned him a grin. “They’re a bit big on you.”

Dick shot him a half-hearted glare. “I’m an _acrobat_. I don’t need all that unnecessary muscle and height.”

Bruce laughed at the old argument, and Dick was briefly transported back in time, five years ago, when everything was so much easier. “Even acrobats should eat regular meals. You must be hungry.” He stood. “I’ll heat up some leftovers.”

“You don’t have to,” Dick weakly protested as he followed him into the kitchen. “I can do it.”

They both knew that was a blatant lie, so Dick didn’t put up anymore resistance when Bruce directed him to sit down on a barstool. Dick watched Bruce turn on the stove and rummage through the refrigerator. Bruce’s pajamas were warm, and Alfred’s kitchen smelled nostalgically safe. He stifled a yawn.

“Still tired?” Bruce said, clearly amused.

“Yeah,” Dick said, rubbing at his eyes. Apparently, the shower’s wakening effects were short-lived. “I had a long week, even before…Jason.”

Dick’s heart hurt as he said the name. He’d have to get used to saying it, though. Jason’s memory wasn’t going anywhere, not if he could help it.

Bruce continued moving around the kitchen, but Dick could feel his disapproval. He squirmed in his seat, trying to remind himself that Bruce’s opinion shouldn’t matter to him anymore. “I was wrapping up a case,” he felt compelled to explain. “And then there’s been an uptick in gang activity that I’ve been investigating.”

Bruce set a plate of steak, vegetables, and mashed potatoes in front of Dick. “There’s no shame in asking for help.”

Dick bit back a harsh remark. Bruce just didn’t _get_ it. Asking Bruce for help would be conceding his independence. He was trying to step out of Batman’s shadow, out of Bruce’s control. “Who do _you_ ask for help? You refuse to allow the Justice League into Gotham.”

“Alfred. You.” Bruce paused. For a moment, Dick could see grief and rage flash across Bruce’s face. “Jason.”

At the mention of his little brother’s name, Dick felt his irritation drain away. He just felt so _tired_. He remembered Jason had sat often in the chair where Dick was now sitting, when Bruce had first taken him in. Jason hadn’t felt comfortable eating at the large dinner table yet, so Alfred had let him eat in the kitchen. Jason had been so skittish and shy at first. It’d taken so much to coax out tiny smiles and little laughs. As Jason grew out of his shell, his smiles became wide and bright, and those little laughs had turned into mischievous snickers.

“I miss him already,” Dick said, poking at the vegetables on his plate. “I can’t – I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I know, chum,” Bruce said. He turned his back and began tidying up the kitchen.

Conversation apparently finished, Dick focused on clearing his plate. He didn’t want to deal with Bruce’s disappointed glances for not eating enough. And Dick _was_ very hungry. He started with the vegetables, the worst part, but they had a distinct honey flavor to them, so it wasn’t too bad. Alfred could make even vegetables bearable. By the time he finished the potatoes and began cutting his steak, his hands were trembling, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

Bruce appeared at his side and gently took the fork and knife from his hands. “Here you go,” he murmured, cutting the steak up into small pieces.

Dick was too exhausted to complain about being treated like a child, _again_. “Can’t I just go to bed?” he asked sleepily.

Bruce chuckled, warm and affectionate. “Finish your food, first.”

Dick obediently ate the steak. “I don’t know why I’m so-” He yawned. “-so tired. I slept all day.”

“You’re dealing with a lot,” Bruce said, rubbing his back.

“Mm,” Dick hummed in tired agreement. He clumsily stabbed another piece of meat.

When he could barely keep his head up, Bruce guided him from his chair, out of the kitchen, and up the stairs. Dick leaned his weight against Bruce and allowed his eyes to drift shut, trusting Bruce wouldn’t let him fall.

When they reached one of the spare bedrooms, Dick allowed Bruce to tuck him into bed. He would put a stop to Bruce’s coddling later, but for now, it was nice. “I’ll be in my room if you need me,” Bruce told him as he pulled the blankets up to Dick’s chin.

Dick was asleep before Bruce left the room.

+++

A few hours after tucking Dick in, Bruce quietly entered the guestroom. Dick was predictably sound asleep. He wouldn’t wake for at least six or seven more hours. Bruce had initially resisted bringing him back to the master bedroom. Dick was already feeling smothered. But Bruce couldn't silence the irrational part of his brain that worried Dick would leave.

Carefully, Bruce lifted Dick into his arms and left the room. He’d come up with a plausible explanation for Dick's relocation later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So maybe we're getting into the dark-ish category? Honestly, drugging his kids (allegedly) isn't that uncharacteristic of Bruce Wayne. But still. Not normal, healthy behavior.


	3. The Video

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is tired of being tired all the time. He and Bruce argue. Dick snoops where he shouldn't.  
> Warning: Semi-graphic depiction of someone being beaten to death.

Dick slept for most of the next ten days. After sleep walking to Bruce’s bed three nights in a row, Dick just started sleeping there. Bruce didn’t seem to mind. Dick was pretty sure Bruce preferred having Dick within arm’s reach. Sharing a bed definitely didn’t help the constant coddling, but Dick was usually too tired to fight about it.

He quickly found himself in a simple routine. He would wake up in the morning to breakfast in bed with Bruce and then shower. If he was feeling up to it, he would take a short walk around the manor to get some fresh air. He’d come inside, and Bruce would have a cup of tea, saturated with honey, waiting for him. Tired from being alone with his thoughts too long, he would take a long nap that usually lasted through lunch. When he woke again, he and Bruce would have an early dinner. After, he’d sleepily cuddle up to Bruce in the living room while Bruce worked on his laptop. Before leaving for patrol, Bruce would help get Dick to bed. And then rinse and repeat.

On day eleven, Dick broke. “I’m going back to Bludhaven tomorrow,” he announced over dinner. “I think being home will help me find more normalcy. I need to stop sleeping so much.”

Dick kept his eyes on the vegetables he was poking with a fork. Bruce had mastered Alfred’s technique of flavoring them just right with honey, but even with the added sweetness, Dick didn’t have the appetite for vegetables before the inevitable fight with Bruce. Remarkably, they hadn’t fought since the morning after Jason’s death, but Dick knew that Bruce wouldn’t let him go home without an argument. And their arguments were always explosive.

Predictably, Bruce shook his head, a scowl already forming. “No. It’s too dangerous. I haven’t been able to locate the Joker yet.”

“Then let me help,” Dick said, looking up from his plate to glare at Bruce “I have sources in Bludhaven that-”

“You’ll be led into a trap!” Bruce snapped.

“You don’t think I deserve the right to track down the monster that killed my baby brother?” Dick said.

“ _I_ will deal with the Joker,” Bruce said firmly. “Alone.”

Dick stood and slammed his hands on the table, making the plates rattle. “That isn’t your call! I’m not Robin anymore. I make my own decisions now!”

Bruce also stood, his hands in fists at his side. “Jason thought he could handle the Joker too, and then the Joker _killed_ him!”

“I have been in this game for almost twice as long as Jason had! I have protected my own city _by myself_ for two years! I can handle basic surveillance on the Joker, and then we can take him down _together._ ”

“You’re still so young,” Bruce said, his voice softening. “I don’t doubt your abilities, Dick. I just want to keep you safe. I won’t fail you like I failed Jason. I _can’t_ lose another son.”

“Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have raised me to be a fucking child vigilante,” Dick spat out and then immediately regretted it. “Bruce, I mean-”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, his voice hoarse and his eyes dark. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.” He turned to leave.

“Wait, Bruce, no-” Dick could only watch helplessly as Bruce left the room.

Dick collapsed back into his chair and buried his face in his hands. This was why he _hated_ arguing with Bruce. The worst things always left his mouth. Bruce might be overbearing and emotionally constipated, but Dick never wanted to actually hurt him. Bruce was his father in all but name, and Dick loved him. He was just so _frustrating_. But Dick only had himself to blame for allowing his temper to get the best of him.

Eventually, he forced himself out of his thoughts. He busied himself by collecting their dishes and taking them into the kitchen. Dick might be a slob in his own home, but, especially with Alfred away, Dick wouldn’t let the manor fall below Alfred’s standards. God, he wished Alfred hadn’t left. He respected Alfred’s decision to take some time to himself to mourn properly, but Alfred always had the best advice for Dick after a fight with Bruce.

Once the kitchen was all cleaned up, he wasn’t sure what to do. Usually, after dinner, he’d cuddle with Bruce on one of the comfy couches in the living room. Bruce would work on his laptop, and Dick would either nap or read. It reminded Dick of when he had been younger. Bruce was such an introvert, but Dick craved physical contact, so they used to sit on that same couch. Dick had done homework, and Bruce had read or worked on paperwork. The past ten days, really, reminded Dick of the good times he used to have with Bruce.

But Dick had messed up, and now Bruce was probably going to avoid him for the rest of the evening. Dick still planned to leave for Bludhaven in the morning – before he said something else regrettable – but he couldn’t leave without at least apologizing.

He debated waiting in Bruce’s bedroom for Bruce to come back after patrol. He wasn’t sure, though, if he could stay awake that late. Frankly, he was impressed that he was still alert. Maybe the adrenaline rush from the fight was keeping him awake. Sighing, he accepted that he needed to track down Bruce before Bruce went on patrol.

His first guess at Bruce’s location – the Batcave – initially appeared empty. Dick went to the Batcomputer and opened the surveillance feeds. Bruce had cameras up all over the manor and the Batcave, but Dick only had access to the more public areas. It was all jolly and good for _Bruce_ to watch Dick sleeping, but not for Dick to have the bedroom feeds, Dick thought bitterly.

Bruce was in the lower level of the Batcave, in the secluded training room. For a moment, Dick just watched the screen as Bruce pulled a punching bag. The pure brutality and lack of finesse showed Bruce’s clear anger and frustration – also probably self-hatred, knowing Bruce, especially after Dick’s stupid comments. If Bruce had actually been training instead of just blowing off steam, he’d be doing something more complicated than just punching.

Dick closed the feed. He’d wait in Batcave until Bruce was done. In the meantime, he couldn’t resist being a little nosy. He skimmed Bruce’s file on Jason’s death and the Joker. The Joker, he read, hadn’t been seen since Jason had died. Batman had tracked down a few henchmen, who confirmed that the Joker was still alive. In his notes, Bruce wrote that the Joker was likely planning something big.

Dick wished Bruce would just let him _help_. With both of them working tracking the Joker down, they would find him much faster.

In the folder with Bruce’s case notes, there was a video file. Dick hesitated. Bruce had mentioned the Joker had filmed Jason’s death. If this was that video, maybe he shouldn’t watch it. But curiosity won over.

The video started with a close-up on the Joker’s face. _“Batsy, guess who I’ve caught?”_

The Joker cackled manically and moved away from the camera to show Robin – _Jason_ – tied to a chair. His suit was bloodied and torn. Dick’s stomach lurched, but he couldn’t look away. _“He wandered right into the trap I set for_ you! _”_ the Joker continued. _“But a bird trap is a bird trap. I’ll settle for a robin instead of a bat for now. Robin and I are going to have_ so _much fun!”_

Insolent as always, Jason began to swear loudly at the Joker. _“Such bad language, Robin,”_ the Joker said. _“What would Batman say?”_

The camera zoomed in closer to Jason. To his horror, Dick saw a red burn in the shape of _J_ on Jason’s cheek. The Joker had _branded him._ Suddenly, making Dick flinch, the Joker was back in the shot. He swung a crowbar at Jason, hitting him squarely in the stomach. Jason coughed up blood. Despite knowing the worst was yet to come, Dick couldn’t force himself to look away.

Jason kept up with the defiant taunting and creative insults for the first five minutes, but his voice became more and more strained with every hit. He fell silent when the Joker hit him in the jaw. The sickening _crack_ would haunt Dick’s nightmares.

By the ten-minute mark, Jason was definitely dead, but the Joker just kept _hitting_ , over and over and over and over. The video ended, twenty minutes in total, to the Joker’s laughter as he kicked Jason’s brutalized body to the ground.

Dick grabbed a nearby trash bin and vomited. Horror and grief and rage twisted his stomach. He’d been dealing with the grief for almost two weeks, and the horror would likely never fade, so the rage won out. He needed to find the Joker. He needed to hit the Joker over and over and over until the Joker’s whole body was a bloody mess of broken bones, just like Jason’s.

On unsteady feet, Dick went for his bike. A hand grabbed his arm, and he violently tried to shake it off. “Dick,” Bruce said.

“Let go of me!” Dick snarled. “I’m going to find him and _kill him_.”

“We don’t kill,” Bruce said, his voice quiet.

“I don’t care about your fucking no kill rule!” Dick shouted. “He – he branded Jason and _beat him to death_.”

“I know,” Bruce said calmly – too calmly for Dick’s taste.

His hand was still on Dick’s arm, preventing Dick from leaving. “And you’re just going to let him live?” Dick said furiously. “After what that monster did? First Barbara. Now Jason. How many lives does he have to destroy before enough is enough? Jason was _fifteen_! He was too young.” Dick made the mistake of meeting Bruce’s warm, understanding eyes. The fight left his body, and the grief pushed away the rage. Dick began to sob. “He – he wasn’t even old enough to drive yet. He was l-looking forward to – to driving the Batmobile, and now he never – never w-will.”

Bruce pulled him into hug, and Dick sobbed into his chest. He kept hearing the horrifying _crack_ of Jason’s bones breaking, the Joker’s terrible laugh, and Jason’s cries of pain. “I want – want him to d-die, like J-Jason did,” Dick said, more like a confession this time.

Bruce stroked Dick’s hair soothingly. “I know, Dick. I know.”

Dick clung to Bruce for a few more minutes. He breathed in the scent of Bruce’s familiar cologne, grounding himself with it. Bruce’s hugs always made him feel protected against the horrible world around them. After his sobs eased, Dick stepped back, wiping away the remaining tears with his sleeve. Bruce let him.

Meeting Bruce’s mournful gaze again, Dick said, “I’m sorry about what I said at dinner. Jason’s death wasn’t your fault, and I don’t blame you for training us to be Robin.”

Bruce moved away, his face tightening. “I do.”

“You shouldn’t,” Dick said firmly. “Becoming Robin saved me, and I know it saved Jason too. Gotham is a shithole. Jason might have died without becoming Robin. The Joker put Barbara in a wheelchair when she was acting as a _civilian_. Your training gave us a better chance to save ourselves and people who can’t save themselves.”

Bruce did not look convinced. Dick would let it go, for now. He was too worn out by watching Jason’s brutal death.

“Can you make me some of that honey tea?” Dick asked. “I can’t really trust myself not to burn water right now.”

He really just wanted Bruce’s company. He didn’t trust himself enough not to go after the Joker, and Bruce had a point that the Joker was too dangerous for Dick to take on alone. As emotionally comprised as he was, Dick would play right into one of the Joker’s traps.

Bruce studied Dick’s face for a moment and then nodded. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really didn't go in the direction I had planned. I had a chase scene all mapped out, but then my brain went NOPE, let's do some angst! Maybe in the next chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented and/or left a kudos and/or is just reading along! I really appreciate it. :)


	4. Chase Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick runs through the forest. Dick really does not enjoy the experience. Bruce gets a few more creepy vibes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning, I finished writing this around 4am and proofed around 5am, so there might be more grammar/spelling mistakes than usual. Sorry about that. I just wanted to get this chapter out before I started over thinking things. Feel free to let me know if there's anything painfully wrong. :)

Dick’s bike was not where he left it. He spent a moment just staring at the empty spot – it’d been there last night – and then wandered over to the other vehicles in the Batcave. It wasn’t there either. An uneasy feeling was beginning to form in his gut. He ignored it. He was in the Batcave. Batman was literally upstairs, working on some urgent Wayne Enterprises business. Dick couldn’t be safer.

Had Bruce moved the bike somewhere? Maybe Bruce had accidentally damaged it while training or something. Dick frowned. That didn’t seem like Bruce. For a moment, he debated taking one of the other Bat-vehicles. Bruce wouldn’t mind as long as Dick returned it later.

Dick checked the key rack. It was empty. The uneasy feeling returned.

Yesterday evening, he and Bruce had sat on the living room couch while Dick sipped on honey tea and cried on Bruce’s shoulder. Later that night, after tucking Dick into bed, Bruce had left for patrol. Sometimes patrols were weird – though Dick couldn’t think of a good reason why Bruce would hide his bike and the keys to the other Bat-vehicles. Unless – Dick physically shook his head to clear his thoughts. No. That was absurd. Bruce had seemed perfectly normal at breakfast. Dick was safe here. He couldn’t be safer anywhere else.

Dick logged into the Batcomputer, hoping to check the surveillance videos. _“Credentials Denied,”_ the Batcomputer said in a monotone.

The words flashed on the screen in red, bolded letters. Dick tried again with no luck. Yeah, that uneasy feeling was now here to stay.

“What are you doing down here?”

Dick spun around. Bruce was standing a few feet away from the staircase leading up to the manor, blocking the exit – _No_ , he was just standing there, Dick reminded himself. Bruce wasn’t purposely blocking the easiest exit. Dick was safe here. Bruce would never hurt him, and that unsettling feeling in his gut had nothing to do with Bruce. He was probably on edge because of watching that horrible video yesterday.

“Hey, Bruce,” Dick said, forcing on a cheerful smile. “I can’t log into the Batcomputer. Isn’t that weird?”

“Why would you need access to the Batcomputer?” Bruce said. He took a step forward. “You shouldn’t be down here.”

Dick resisted the urge to step back. His heart was now racing in his chest. Bruce looked…strange. Too calm, too still, like a panther ready to pounce. Dick had never seen this side of Bruce, and Dick did not like it.

Hiding his unease, Dick replied, “I’m heading back to Bludhaven today, remember? But I can’t find my bike. Did you move it? I was going to check surveillance on the Batcomputer to see if you had.”

He didn’t mention the keys. It would sound too paranoid. Dick was supposed to be _safe_ here. Bruce had always made sure that the Batcave was safe for Dick, even after Dick left to become Nightwing.

“You don’t need your bike,” Bruce said, still so _goddamn_ calm.

Dick _really_ didn’t like this side of Bruce. He forced a light laugh. “’Course I do. I need it to get back to Bludhaven and for patrol tonight.”

“You aren’t going to Bludhaven, and you aren’t going on patrol,” Bruce said.

“That isn’t your call. Look, I promised I wouldn’t go after the Joker alone or even investigate leads. If it makes you feel better, I can take a cab back to Bludhaven and skip patrol for tonight. But I’m going, either way.” Dick was already cataloguing potential exits.

“No. You aren’t leaving the manor.”

Bruce lunged for him, but Dick was ready. Dick dodged and threw the closest thing he could grab – a computer mouse. And then he _sprinted_ towards the driving tunnel leading away from the manor. Bruce could beat him in hand-to-hand, but Dick was quicker. He could hear Bruce’s heavy footfalls behind him. Bruce wasn’t even trying to be quiet. It just made Dick run faster.

The tunnel was long, meant for the Batmobile to race through, but there were a few utility ladders that lead up to the surface. If he could put enough space between him and Bruce to climb one of those ladders, he could escape into the forest surrounding Wayne Manor property.

Not breaking his pace, he glanced behind him. Bruce was a few yards away. Climbing the ladder would slow Dick down and put him in a vulnerable position. He would need space between them. If only he had his gear, but his suit and gear had also been suspiciously missing. He’d assumed that Bruce had put it in the wash or something. Dick had plenty of spares at his apartment, so he hadn’t thought much of it. Dick felt so _stupid_. Still, he’d been trained by the Batman. He could escape even without his gear.

Dick grabbed his phone from his pocket and, with another quick glance over his shoulder, flung it at Bruce’s head. Bruce would be able to track Dick’s phone faster than Dick could call and get help, so it wasn’t a loss. And once Bruce caught him – which he _wouldn’t_ , if Dick had anything to say about it – Brucie Wayne could deter any potential rescuers with his money, reputation, and extreme home security system.

Bruce momentarily slowed as he dodged the phone. Dick hoped that that had bought enough time.e He had just reached one of the utility ladders. With all the grace and quickness of his acrobatic upbringing, he scrambled up. Bruce reached the ladder as Dick climbed to the top and maneuvered through the exit. Dick quickly shut the exit hatch behind him and gathered heavy rocks to keep it shut. And then he was back to sprinting, this time through a forest.

+++

In training, Bruce had focused on how to survive crime fighting in a city. In a very concrete, urban city, with minimal trees and wildlife. Bruce had spent some of Dick’s training on surviving the wilderness, just in case, but not enough for Dick to find useful now, especially when his pursuer was his former teacher. So, Dick didn’t even bother trying to hide his trail through the foliage. It would take too much time, and Bruce be able to track him anyways. Dick, without his suit or his gear or backup or familiarity of the area, had only two advantages in this chase – his speed and his acrobatics.

He focused on running as deep into the trees as he could. He didn’t have much of plan. Dick would need to lay low until Bruce gave up the search and returned to the manor. Then Dick could leave the forest and hope that someone, for whatever reason, would be driving on the usually empty back road behind Wayne Manor. Dick knew his plan was very flawed and would require a whole bunch of dumb luck. Even if Bruce was the type of person to give up, Dick would have no way of knowing that Bruce had returned to the manor. The driver that he _might_ find on the road would need to neither want to kidnap Dick Grayson, heir to the richest man in Gotham, nor bring him back to the manor. No one would believe Dick if he claimed that Bruce Wayne, his former guardian, was trying to keep him captive.

Dick was doomed. But, like Bruce, he wasn’t the type to give up easily.

His foot caught on something, and he fell to the ground. He knew how to fall without breaking anything – vigilante training 101 – but his foot, stuck in a hole, twisted painfully. He cursed under his breath. This was why he preferred running in urban areas. The ground – and rooftops – weren’t hidden by dead foliage. He’d already injured himself before actually fighting anyone.

Gingerly, he sat up, careful not to jar his throbbing ankle too much. Using his fingers, he dug around the hole where his foot was stuck. Very carefully, he eased his foot out. Dick gritted his teeth through the pain. He couldn’t cry out and reveal his location.

Once his foot free, he rolled up his pant leg to get a better look at the injury. His ankle was red and already was beginning to swell. _Shit_. A pretty bad sprain then. He wouldn’t be able to run anymore. He needed to hide – and fast.

The trees were his only viable option. He didn’t need his feet to climb. He had enough strength in the rest of his body to compensate. Slowly, he stood and limped over to the closest tree that looked sturdy enough for him to climb. It was a lost cause, but he tried to leave as little of trail to that tree as possible. As a child, both in the circus and at the manor, he’d loved climbing trees. Trees were like nature’s own jungle gym. It didn’t take him long to climb as far up as the branches could hold him. The tree’s leaves mostly hid him from view but allowed him a few sightlines to the ground.

Dick closed his eyes and waited.

The absence of a task to focus allowed the emotions he’d repressed to flood in. He felt betrayed, scared, hurt, angry, embarrassed… Betrayed, because Bruce, his mentor and father-figure, was literally _hunting him down_. Scared, because his safe place and his safe person were no longer safe. Hurt, because Dick had trust Bruce. Angry, because Dick hadn’t done anything to deserve this treatment from a man that he considered family. Embarrassed, because, only a half hour after his escape, he was stuck in a tree with a sprained ankle.

Dick took deep breath, trying to come to terms with his whirling emotions. He’d experienced betrayal and unexpected twists during missions before but never from Bruce. Dick didn’t count the occasional mind-controlling substance or meta that had made Bruce attack Dick in the past. In those cases, Bruce hadn’t been, well, _Bruce_. Dick didn’t think Bruce was under the influence of anything but Bruce’s own mind right now. During breakfast, his behavior hadn’t differed from the previous eleven days.

But Bruce hadn’t been acting the same since Jason died. It made sense. Bruce had lost a son, and Batman had lost a Robin. It would’ve been weirder if Bruce _hadn’t_ acted differently. But maybe Dick should have been more aware of _how_ Bruce had changed. Bruce hadn’t let Dick do anything outside the manor grounds. Usually, after a traumatizing event, Bruce would throw himself and Dick into training and patrol until they were both exhausted and burnt out. Bruce had been going on patrol every night, but he hadn’t been pushing himself to the extreme, like Dick should’ve expected. Dick tried not to blame himself too much for not noticing. Jason’s death had affected Dick too. His grief had worn him out, and he’d appreciated Bruce’s comforting presence too much to question it.

Dick shook himself. Batman liked to say that what-ifs were needless distractions. Despite Bruce’s betrayal, Dick still trusted his training. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

+++

By Dick’s internal clock, Bruce appeared about an hour after Dick had taken refuge in the tree. Bruce’s steps were completely silent as he walked through the foliage, like a ghost – or a demon. Dick shuddered. Through a small break in the leaves, Dick saw Bruce bend down and examine where Dick had fallen. Dick helplessly watched Bruce’s head move as Bruce tracked the path Dick had taken to the tree.

And then, Bruce looked up and made direct eye contact with Dick.

Dick flinched and clung tightly to the tree. Maybe Bruce couldn’t reach him up here. Maybe Bruce hadn’t actually seen him – it was just a coincidence he’d look directly at Dick. Maybe, now that he’d found him, Bruce would get bored and leave him alone. The unlikely scenarios rattled in Dick’s head as his fear grew. Who knew why Bruce was acting like this? What did he want? What would Bruce do once he had Dick back in the manor?

“Dick,” Bruce said, eerily gentle. “You need to come down now.”

Dick swallowed thickly and shook his head. Bruce moved closer to the tree. “You have two options,” Bruce continued. His tone was meant to be soothing, but Dick just found it disturbing. “Either you can come down, or I can come up and get you.”

Bruce’s words made Dick feel like a young child who had run away from home, not like an adult who had run away from a threat. “Can’t you just leave me alone?” Dick pleaded desperately.

His body felt weak and useless, his ankle still throbbing dully in pain. He was emotionally spent. No amount of training could have prepared him for _this_. He wanted to go to his apartment in Bludhaven, hide under his blankets, and pretend none of this was happening. At first, he’d treated his like another mission, to more easily ignore his emotional and physical aches, but with Bruce’s piercing eyes staring him down, he couldn’t keep up the façade. This was too personal, too close to home.

“Dick,” Bruce said. “You aren’t safe here. Come down, and I’ll take you back to the manor.”

Dick shook his head furiously, clinging even more to the tree. “ _No._ Go away!”

Bruce sighed, as if _Dick_ was being unreasonable. “I brought mild sedative with me. I don’t want to use it, but, if I need to safely carry you down, I will. If you do come down of your own will and try to run again, I will also use it.”

Dick debated his odds at subduing Bruce if Bruce climbed the tree. The odds weren’t great. Even if Dick somehow managed to knock Bruce out, Dick couldn’t go very far on his sprained ankle.

Reluctantly, Dick began to climb down. He could feel Bruce’s eyes on him as he made the silent, slow journey. When his feet touched solid ground, Bruce stepped into Dick’s space so that Dick was almost caged against the tree trunk. “Can I trust you to stay by my side as we walk back?” Bruce asked.

Dick scowled and refrained from making a snide remark about _trust_. He needed to tell Bruce about his ankle, but Dick didn’t want to reveal any weakness. Bruce’s eyes were beginning to narrow, his first sign of irritation all afternoon, as Dick didn’t move or speak.

“Dick,” Bruce said in low, warning tone that Dick recognized too well from his Robin days.

Maybe Dick could fake it. He took a step forward on his injured foot. He let out a whimper of pain and pivoted into Bruce’s chest. Bruce caught him. “Are you hurt?” Bruce asked. Bruce sounded _concerned_ , the asshole.

Dick glared up at him. “I sprained my fucking ankle,” he snapped.

“Language,” Bruce said mildly.

Dick wanted to punch him. Bruce hadn’t corrected his language in _years_. Bruce had even given up correcting _Jason’s_ much fouler language by the time Jason had turned fourteen. “I’m not a child,” Dick gritted out.

Bruce ignored him. “I’ll look at in the manor.” And then, without even a warning, he swiftly lifted Dick into his arms.

Dick cried out, struggling out of instinct, but a stern look from Bruce quelled him. Dick wasn’t getting away. He’d run out of his dumb luck.

+++

The walk to the manor was long and silent. Dick had eventually wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck for stability, and their positions reminded him too much of Batman carrying a much younger version of Dick to the Batmobile after Dick had injured himself or been to sleepy to walk. This was cruel echo of his childhood memories.

When they reached the manor’s front door, Bruce asked Dick to open the door for them, since Bruce’s hand were full. Dick considered refusing out of spite, but that could only lead to Bruce drugging him. Dick would comply with Bruce until he devised an escape plan.

Bruce carried him to the living room and gently set him down in one of the couches – _their_ couch, Dick noted furiously. “Stay here,” Bruce ordered before leaving.

“As if I could go anywhere,” Dick muttered to himself.

Bruce came back after a few minutes with a bowl of water and some towels. He knelt and carefully cradled Dick’s swollen foot in his hands. Dick wanted to kick him, but, even without the consequences, the move would hurt Dick’s already throbbing foot more than Bruce’s face. Unfortunately.

Bruce used the water to clean Dick’s foot. Dick clamped his mouth shut and stubbornly refused to cry out in pain, just on principal. Dick had had worse injuries, but the emotional chaos in his mind made the pain so much harder to bare. “Definitely a sprain,” Bruce said as he dried Dick’s foot.

Dick glared at him. It was becoming his default reaction to anything Bruce said or did. “Why won’t you let me _leave_?” Dick snapped.

Bruce continued, as if Dick hadn’t spoken, “I’ll bring you upstairs, where you can elevate and ice it.”

“ _Bruce_ ,” Dick said forcefully. “What’s going on with you?”

Instead of replying, Bruce lifted Dick back into his arms. Dick wanted to demand answers from Bruce during the walk upstairs, but Dick could recognize a lost cause. When they reached the top of the stairs, Bruce said, “I’ll put you in the library and find you a book to read. It’ll be relaxing in there.”

Dick’s body immediately stiffened as his anxiety spiked. “No, please, no,” Dick said, sounding desperate despite himself.

Jason had loved the library. He had loved reading literature and being surrounded by books and listening to the birds outside the window. It had been one of places he’d been the most relaxed. Dick didn’t want to – _couldn’t_ – handle Jason’s ghost right now. Dick was too…raw.

Bruce, to his credit, stopped heading towards the library. “Alright, chum,” he said soothingly. “Not the library, then.”

Dick hated that he felt grateful.

Bruce ended up settling Dick into the master suite’s sitting room. Bruce propped up Dick’s leg with a few pillows and covered Dick’s ankle with a bag of ice wrapped in a thin towel. Bruce also draped a throw blanket over Dick. “Would you like a book to read?” Bruce said, all considerate-like.

“How about my phone?” Dick said, sugary sweet.

Bruce chuckled, as if everything was some kind _joke_. “Not right now, chum.”

“Then I’m just going to nap,” Dick said bitterly. “Apparently that’s all I’m allowed to do now.”

Dick flinched away when Bruce brushed some hair out of Dick’s eyes. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Dick didn’t respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got my chase scene!!! A bit shorter and less dramatic than I pictured, but it happened!!! I think there's 1-2 chapters left in this fic, and then I'll start writing the next fix in this series, as a sequel. This series was supposed to be shorter fics just set loosely in this 'verse. But then plot started happening. 
> 
> Some writers start with outlines and detailed plot thoughts and are super organized. I just kind of...see where it goes. I have vague landmarks that have to be visited, but beyond that, I don't know how this will end, so feel free to let me know if there's anything you want to see happen in this 'verse, and it might actually happen. :D
> 
> Oh! One more thing - So I think the cats out of the bag about Bruce basically drugging Dick into sleeping more. (Hopefully, that was made clear. If not, please let me know so, if I ever do major edits, I can be more blatant about it.) A couple of y'all have been talking about that in the comments, which is great.   
> So my rational of why Dick hasn't figured it out now, even after Bruce got, y'know, all kidnap-y, is that he's not used to be paranoid around Bruce at the manor. That may change soon. (Or will it? Dun-dun-duh) I actually have plot points in my head about this that I am lowkey excited about. So, yeah. :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's sending comments, kudos, or just warm vibes! I appreciate them all. :)


	5. The Second Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick takes a bath and schemes. Bruce is scary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is some non-con non-sexual touching in this chapter but nothing too horrific.

“No,” Dick said. “This is where I’m drawing the line.”

He was sitting on the stone ledge of Bruce’s bathtub. After leaving Dick in the sitting room for a few hours, Bruce had carried him here. The bathtub was already full of warm water and fluffy bubbles. Dick hadn’t had a bubble bath in years, but that wasn’t why he was protesting.

“I can undress myself _in private,_ ” Dick insisted.

It would be a struggle to undress, get into the tub, get out of the tub, and redress without putting pressure on his injured foot. But it felt too vulnerable and intimate to let Bruce, essentially his _captor_ , do all that for him.

“Dick, don’t be stubborn,” Bruce said, folding his arms over his chest.

They stared at each other tensely for a long, drawn-out moment, but Dick knew that it was impossible to out-stubborn Bruce Wayne. “I don’t trust you,” Dick admitted bitterly, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t want to be naked in front of someone who I don’t trust.”

Bruce had the _audacity_ be hurt by that. He hid it well, but Dick recognized the look in his former mentor’s eyes. “Dick-”

“You’ve basically kidnapped me!” Dick spat out. “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home and never see you again!”

It was almost true. Dick never wanted to see _this_ version of Bruce again. Dick wanted the old Bruce back, the one that had raised him. Dick’s vision began to blur with tears, and he quickly blinked them away.

He was losing control. His body was betraying him by repeatedly giving into fatigue. His emotions were constantly changing and spiking and spiraling. And he wasn’t allowed to do anything without Bruce’s approval. He felt like his agency was being stripped away.

“Dick,” Bruce said quietly. “You _are_ home.”

Bruce leaned forward and cupped Dick’s face with a hand, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. Dick instinctively leaned into the comforting gesture. When he realized what he was doing, Dick tried to flinch away. “Don’t touch me!”

Bruce’s hand didn’t move. He tilted Dick’s head up and forced Dick to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “This is my fault. I should have been clearer at the start. I planned to tell you this morning, but I let work get in the way.”

Dick could count on one hand how many times Bruce had verbally apologized to him. Dick usually treasured those moments because of their rarity, but this apology was like a slap in the face. Clearly if Bruce had regrets for his behavior, he would stop.

Dick grabbed Bruce’s wrist, but Dick couldn’t move away the hand that cupped his face. Bruce was too strong.

“Tell me _what_?” Dick snapped.

“That you will never leave the safety of the manor ever again,” Bruce said. “No one can hurt you here.”

Dick yanked at Bruce’s wrist harder to no avail. “ _You’re_ hurting me!”

Guilt flashed through Bruce’s eyes as he looked down at Dick’s foot. “I didn’t plan for-”

“Not my goddamn ankle, Bruce!” Dick was shouting now, trembling with anger and hurt and fear. And Bruce _still_ wasn’t removing his hand. Bruce’s touch made Dick feel even more trapped. “You’re putting me in a cage!”

“To keep you safe and alive,” Bruce said.

“But not happy,” Dick said. “I won’t be happy locked up like this!”

“I would rather have you safe and unhappy, than dead and unable to feel anything.” Bruce’s voice began to rise in volume. “I will not lose my only remaining son.”

“You’ve already lost him,” Dick said. “You’re not my father anymore.”

Bruce tensed at the verbal blow, but Dick could see the firm resolve written all over his face. “You will _always_ be my son.”

Bruce stroked Dick’s cheek with his thumb. Dick let go of Bruce’s wrist and glared with even more fury.

“You think this will keep me safe?” Dick said. “You don’t think I’ll slam my body against the walls of this cage? I’ll never stop trying to leave, even if I have to break every bone in my body. I will fling myself out of a balcony and die before I ever given to this – this insanity!”

A dark look came over Bruce’s face. He finally dropped his hand and straightened, taking a step forward to loom over Dick. “Should you dare hurt yourself or endanger your life deliberately, there will be _consequences_ ,” he said in a low growl.

Dick shrank back. He vividly remembered Bruce directing that tone and posture at many people throughout Dick’s childhood – bigoted teachers, Uncle Clark, the Teen Titans, anyone with whom Dick had expressed romantic interest. But never, _ever_ at Dick.

Dick found enough courage to say, bitterly, “Consequences? What’re going to do? Hit me? Why don’t you go ahead and beat me up now! You might as well get it over with. Prove that you’re doing this because of your own messed up control issues and not for my safety. If you really loved me, you wouldn’t do this to me.”

Bruce leaned down again, and Dick recoiled, bracing for a blow. Instead of a hit, Bruce tenderly stroked Dick’s hair. “I’ll never hurt you,” Bruce said. “I do love you, my little robin, more than you can imagine. I will to take good care you, as I should have done all along.”

Bruce’s new demeanor, suddenly gentle and calm, terrified Dick more than his threatening words had. The promise of love sounded obsessive instead of caring. Dick stared up at Bruce wordlessly.

Bruce sighed with a small, affection smile at Dick. “You don’t need to be afraid. You’re safe with me. Now, be a good little bird, and let me help you into this bath.”

Dick just trembled, pinned in place by Bruce’s deceivingly tender blue eyes. He couldn’t look away. With another affectionate sigh, Bruce sat down next to Dick. “Let’s start with your pants. Alright, chum?” Bruce said, wrapping an arm around Dick.

Shakily, Dick nodded and undid his pants. He leaned against Bruce, lifting his body up off the ledge so that Bruce could slip off Dick’s pants and underwear. He sat back down, the stone shockingly cold on his thighs, and Bruce knelt at Dick’s feet. Dick took off his shirt as Bruce carefully removed Dick’s socks, mindful of Dick’s swollen ankle.

Dick shivered, naked and vulnerable, until Bruce prompted him towards the water. Dick swung his good foot into the bath. He grasped Bruce’s forearms for leverage as he gingerly placed the other leg into the water. Dick carefully lowered himself down. When Dick was safely in the tub, he released Bruce and sunk further into the safety of the bubbles, using them as a flimsy shield against Bruce’s piercing gaze.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Shout if you need me,” Bruce said and then thankfully left.

When the bathroom door shut behind Bruce, Dick stretched his body out, leaning his head back against the edge of the tub, and closed his eyes. The water was still soothingly warm. He forced himself to take deep, comforting breaths. The smell of expensive soap grounded him in the moment, calming his trembling limbs.

Dick had no illusions of privacy. He didn’t doubt that Bruce was watching him through one of the hidden cameras. Dick wanted to scream and punch something, or maybe curl up in the warm water and cry. Either reaction would bring Bruce back immediately, so Dick just continued his regulated breathing, clearing his mind.

+++

True to his word, Bruce returned exactly twenty minutes later. He came in carrying folded pajamas, which he set on the counter. “All done, Dick?” Bruce asked cheerfully, as if twenty minutes ago he hadn’t left Dick shaking in fear.

“Yeah,” Dick said dully.

After he had stopped trembling, Dick had washed the grime off of his body and out of his hair. The bath had cleared his mind, but Bruce’s presence drained him of energy.

Bruce rolled up his sleeves and reached for him. Dick allowed himself to be pulled up. He had to grip Bruce’s shoulders to himself steady. Bruce didn’t seem to mind all the soapy water that was getting on his clothes and onto the ground. Keeping most of his weight on Bruce, Dick stepped out of the tub with his good foot first. Completely naked, balancing on one foot, and shivering, Dick leaned against Bruce’s chest.

“Here you go, chum.” Bruce grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Dick. He began drying Dick’s hair with another towel.

Dick just clung to Bruce’s shirt and let himself be dried off like a young child. He felt vulnerable and small against Bruce’s large body. 

When Dick was mostly dry, Bruce reached for the pajamas. Since Dick hadn’t returned to his apartment since Jason’s death, the pajamas were Bruce’s – soft, made of expensive material, and too large for Dick’s body. They made Dick look younger and fragile, something Dick now hoped to use to his advantage.

“Bruce?” Dick said quietly after Bruce had helped him into the clothes. Dick kept his body slumped and his eyes adverted. “Can I, um-” He bit his lip.

“Yes, chum?” Bruce prompted. “What is it?”

Dick shyly looked up at Bruce, hoping he looked as pathetic as he felt. “Would it be alright if I stayed in, um, my room tonight?” he asked. “I mean, my old room?”

“You haven’t slept there in two years,” Bruce said, obviously suspicious.

Dick glanced away. He would need to word this next part carefully. Bruce knew all of Dick’s tells, so Dick would have to twist the truth a little instead of straight up lying. “It’s been a long day,” Dick said. “I think the familiarity will help me feel more secure.”

When he met Bruce’s gaze again, Dick kept his eyes wide and scared. Bruce seemed to buy it, his suspicion melting away as his face softened. “Of course. Anything you need.”

Dick resisted the urge to whoop in victory. He hadn’t attempted the helpless-orphan act since his preteen years. He was impressed it still worked. He offered Bruce a small smile. “Thanks.”

+++

Bruce insisted on tucking Dick into bed that night. Dick allowed it. He’d already survived a quiet dinner with Bruce and then Bruce’s hovering presence as Dick brushed his teeth, all without complaint. He could handle Bruce pulling up the covers and pressing a kiss to Dick’s forehead. If Zitka wasn’t safely in Dick’s apartment, Dick was certain that Bruce would’ve tucked the stuffed elephant in under the covers with Dick. Bruce’s behavior was beginning to remind Dick almost of how Bruce had acted when Dick had been in elementary school. Calling him ‘chum’, the forehead kisses, the evening snuggling – everything but the crime fighting.

When Bruce finally left the room, after turning on a nightlight, of all things, Dick closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He was tired – it had been a long day – but keeping himself in mission mode allowed him to stay awake. He had plan to complete. Like most of his plans lately, it required a lot of luck, and he expected to get caught. Bruce scared and unnerved him, but Dick didn’t give up easily.

He waited two hours, until Bruce was probably on patrol. The cameras would pick up on his activity, but if Bruce wasn’t in the manor, Dick would have enough time to finish.

He gave a small shout and sat straight up, as if waking from a nightmare. He pretended to re-orientate himself, looking around the room in faked confusion. Slowly, he slipped out of the covers and onto to floor, mindful of his ankle. He eased himself under the bed.

When Dick had first come to manor, after his parents had died, the bedroom suite Bruce had given him had felt gigantic. Without the walls, the suite could fit his parents’ whole trailer home with room to spare. For a few of those initial weeks, he’d slept under the bed, just to feel safe. The first morning that Bruce had found Dick’s bed empty, Bruce nearly had had a heart attack. Dick was pretty sure that that was when Bruce had decided to install cameras and mics in all the rooms of the manor. Adopting a child had not helped Bruce’s paranoia.

So, Bruce probably wouldn’t find it odd that Dick was going under the bed after having a ‘nightmare’. Dick just hoped his acting was good enough.

Dick blindly felt around the dark space. When his hand touched a box, he pulled it towards him. He opened the lid and looked at the contents, grinning in victory. The box contained old tech pieces he had saved. Dick dug around in it until he found his old handheld bat-communicator. For sentimental reasons, he’d snuck up to the manor after Bruce had upgraded their comm systems.

To his delight, the communicator still had enough power to work. Wayne Industry military-grade batteries were really something.

Now, he just needed some dumb luck. Barbara had left the vigilante game, even before she’d been paralyzed by the Joker. There was a chance, though, that she’d been nostalgic like Dick and had kept her old communicator somewhere nearby. While he’d spent two hours pretending to nap in Bruce’s sitting room, he’d brainstormed escape plans, and this was the best one. It wasn’t foolproof, by any measure, but this plan was all he had. Outmaneuvering Batman was near-impossible, especially on Batman’s home turf.

Dick took a deep breath. As soon as he spoke, the mics would pick up his voice and alert Bruce. If Bruce wasn’t on patrol, Dick would have less than five minutes. Barbara was probably asleep, and it would take precious time for her to wake up and find her communicator, if she even kept it nearby. The old communicator didn’t have a ‘voicemail’ setting, unfortunately. But this was his only option.

He set his communicator to match Batgirl’s channel and pressed the transmit button. “Babs, if you can hear me, I need help. Bruce isn’t letting me leave the manor. Jason’s died, and Bruce has lost his mind. Please. Answer me if you can hear this.”

He continued to repeat the message. She didn’t pick up, but even as his voice became hoarse with use, he persisted. He would keep talking into the communicator as long as he could. “Babs, please. You’re my only hope. He’s not letting me leave. Help me.”

Almost a half hour in, Dick’s bedroom door was flung open and the light was flicked on. Dick flinched and fell quiet. It was a lost cause, now. Bruce had caught him, and Barbara had not heard his pleas for help.

“Dick.” Bruce’s voice was hard and furious and thundering. Dick swallowed thickly. “Get out from under the bed. _Now_.”

Dick obeyed immediately, still holding the communicator. As soon as Dick was in reach, Bruce grabbed him by the arms, pulled him up, and forced him to sit on the bed. His grip was firm and unyielding but not painful enough to bruise.

“Give to me,” Bruce growled.

Meekly, Dick handed him the old bat-communicator. Bruce snapped in half. Dick flinched. “I-” Dick started to say.

“Don’t speak,” Bruce snarled. “What even was your plan? If you had contacted Barbara, she wouldn’t be able to take you away from me. No one is allowed on or off this property without my permission. Should the manor become jeopardized, there are so many places I could hide you where no one would ever think to look.”

Dick might be terrified, but he was also angry and had never learned when to shut up when afraid. “Then why do you even care, if it’s such a lost cause? If it’s impossible for me to escape, why does it even matter that I’m trying?”

“The next time you try this foolishness, it might not be so harmless,” Bruce said. “You could hurt yourself again or even die. I will not allow this behavior to continue or escalate.”

Dick glared. “I’m never giving up!”

Bruce glared back. “We’ll see about that.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. Dick tried to move away, but Bruce grabbed his shoulder and pushed him flat onto the bed. When Bruce pinned Dick down with his body, Dick flipped Bruce onto his back and scrambled off the bed. His bad ankle betrayed him, and Dick crumpled to the ground with a pained yelp. He attempted to crawl away, but Bruce lunged, and Dick felt a needle prick his neck.

The drug took a few seconds to take effect. Dick struggled weakly in Bruce’s grip as his muscles lost their strength. “What – what did you give me?” Dick managed to say as his jaw weakened.

“Something to keep you compliant,” Bruce said. He picked Dick up in a fireman’s hold. “You’re going to stay where I can keep an eye on you. No more reckless antics.”

Dick could only whimper in protest.

Bruce brought him to the master bedroom and settled him on the bed. Dick could hardly keep his eyes open. “We’ll discuss the consequences of your actions in the morning,” Bruce said.

Dick wanted to punch him, but he couldn’t move his arms. Bruce slipped into the bed and pulled Dick close. Dick’s head rested limply on Bruce’s shoulder. With his composure ruined by the drug, Dick began to cry softly. He had failed to escape for the second time, and he had no other feasible plans.

“Oh, my little robin,” Bruce said, his voice now gentle. His hold on Dick tightened, almost possessive. “It will be alright. I will always be by your side. No matter what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! :D  
> I had planned for a chapter after this, but everything wrapped up so quickly. Though, fear not! I've already started the next fic of this series that will chronologically follow immediately after this. Tim's coming! :D
> 
> If you have any thoughts on what Tim should be like in this 'verse, let me know. In this 'verse, on the batfam dark to normal spectrum, Bruce is on the far dark side while Dick is on the far normal side. I'm still debating where I want Tim to fall. All thoughts and opinions are welcome! :)
> 
> I now have a tumblr for my ao3 writing stuff [here](https://princessmariana-writes.tumblr.com/). I'm mostly just shouting into the void all the things I struggle with while writing. Like, does Dick wear boxers or briefs? This was important for me to know in this chapter, until I rewrote some things. So, feel free to say hi or ask questions! I love making new friends. :)  
> (And if you know the answers to any of my posted questions, please reply. Boxers or briefs??? I want to know!!! And does Bruce wear shoes in the manor? So many important questions.)  
> Follow me at your own risk though. I'll probably post strange thoughts at strange times. (Sleep? What is sleep?)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is following this series on its unpredictable journey! I really appreciate all the warm comments and kudos and positive vibes. :D
> 
> I hope to see everyone in the next fic! (The batfam is now growing again!)

**Author's Note:**

> I spent way too much time googling the Wayne manor, and apparently old money mansions don't just have bedrooms. They have suites, which include at least a bedroom and, like, a sitting room. I don't know why people need a personal sitting room. Anywho, so that's why Dick and Jason have suites that include sitting rooms. My headcanon is that Jason was Not Impressed by these rich people things. 
> 
> Warning: There will be a lot of cuddling in the rest of this fic and probably the rest of this series. I live alone, and we're in the middle of a pandemic, so I see people less than once a week, and I don't touch. I haven't touched another person in almost two months. I'm a bit touch starved. I'm compensating for it through cuddling in fanfiction. So sue me. (Please don't. Pandemics aren't great on the wallet.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


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